


Lucky Charm

by garrideb



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Anger, Hurt/Comfort, Post Grave Danger, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garrideb/pseuds/garrideb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick finds a fire-ant farm on Grissom's desk after the events of <i>Grave Danger</i> and gets very angry. Written: 7/2006</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Charm

**Author's Note:**

> This was first posted to the _CSI Forensics_ archive under the name [AutumnOak](http://www.csi-forensics.com/viewuser.php?uid=811). Many thanks to Jenna, my beta.

Nick slowly wandered over to the shelves of specimens of insects. The specimens were both live and preserved. Sometimes it took a moment to discern which were which. He watched a glass tank housing huge brown cockroaches for a moment, wishing Grissom would hurry. He never felt very comfortable in his boss's office. It wasn't the bugs so much – although Nick certainly wasn't a big fan – it was Grissom. The older CSI was a very private person, and being alone in his office felt like an intrusion.

The cockroaches weren't moving. Nick frowned. Were they dead? He leaned forward and tapped his nail on the glass. When one of the large bugs hissed loudly he jumped back, surprised.

He gave a self-depreciating chuckle at his frayed nerves and stepped up to the tank. "Right, you're not dead. No need to get so pissy," he told the roach. In response, it hissed again and crawled under a rock. "Social fellow. You and Grissom must get along perfectly."

Nick looked at his watch. Six minutes. It had been six minutes since Grissom had left Nick in his office, promising to be right back with the paperwork. So where was Grissom? Maybe his supervisor had gotten waylaid on his way back to his office and forgotten all about Nick. It wouldn't be the first time obligations slipped his mind in favor of test results or a new lead in a case.

Nick wandered further back, idly observing a case of preserved butterflies. The way they were pinned open to best display their wings' colors – it seemed a little grotesque. But they were pretty, even post-mortem.

Eight minutes. Nick sighed and thought about his own case, which he'd really like to be working instead of standing here. What if Mia had gotten a DNA match from the skin cells found under the victim's fingernails? There were only so many hours in a night, so Nick really needed to get a move on it.

"Okay boss," he told the empty office, "We're going to apply some good ol' college sensibility to this matter. The ten-minute rule: if a teacher is ten minutes late, the students dismiss class themselves. You'd better hurry – you've got one minute left."

He turned at that point to meander back towards the hallway, but a glass box on Grissom's desk caught his eye. It was tucked behind a large stack of reference books so that it wasn't visible from the doorway. Nick wouldn't have seen it if he weren't standing this far back in the office.

He knew what it was instantly. Even cast in shadow he could see movement in the container; small red bodies permeating the soil. He didn't need to step closer to recognize the insects, but he did anyway.

Why were there fire ants on Grissom's desk?

He reached forward, suddenly light headed, as his mind made several rapid connections. The tank looked new. The soil was the same color he saw when he closed his eyes at night. They were the only living things on the desk – not even Grissom's beloved tarantula had the honor of sitting there, it seemed. Maybe it was a leap of logic, but Nick knew, somehow.

Oh god. Why did Grissom have _those_ fire ants on his desk?

And he was certain that they were those fire ants; those from the mound in the nursery, those that had found their way through the cracks in his coffin, starting at his feet and working their way up until they coated his sweat-slick body like poppy seeds on an egg-basted roll.

He leaned closer. Curiosity warred with nausea as he stared at the red ants. How many were there? What were they eating? The air Nick was breathing felt painfully gritty and hot in his lungs, as if he were standing in the middle of a sand storm. And maybe he was – how else would he explain the roaring in his ears?

When he reached forward to touch the ant farm his hands were shaking. Yes, the clear sides of the container were glass, not plastic. It was cool to the touch, in stark contrast to how hot the room felt. He jerked his hand back and that was when he felt the sudden rush of anger. What the hell was Grissom thinking?

The hand that touched his shoulder was a complete shock. Nick flinched violently away from the contact, spinning around to face Grissom. Without bothering to calm his breathing, Nick stared at his boss. It was obvious that Grissom knew what he had been looking at - the man's eyes were both stern and sad. Nick hated that look.

"Nick," Grissom reached out again and put a hand on Nick's arm. The younger CSI managed not to flinch this time as he continued to stare stonily at Grissom. Grissom paused, his uncertainty clearly visible. Then he sighed. "Come on, let's go somewhere else."

"Why?" Nick crossed his arms, effectively shrugging off Grissom's hand. He had a bad feeling the motion made him look like a spurned lover, but right now he didn't care about his dignity. He cared that Grissom was standing in front of him, so fucking calm. Nick wasn't going to let him patronize him yet again. What did Grissom think - that once out of sight, the fire ants would be out of mind? "If you have something to say, say it here."

Grissom didn't react to the words. He just stood there as if he were simply watching Nick call a case. "I think the break room is free. Why don't we talk about this in there?"

"Talk about this?" Nick laughed through the anger that was overtaking his shock. "I don't have anything to say. You do."

"All right. I'll talk and you can listen. I think we should do this somewhere else, though. Come on, Nick..." Grissom turned towards the office door.

"Quit trying to placate me!" Nick snapped. Grissom paused and turned back to the younger criminalist with a sigh. As if Nick were the one acting irrationally - what, did keeping insects that had eaten a coworker alive as beloved pets fall into the field of rational thinking? Nick bristled. On top of everything, Grissom was making him feel like a child. Nick couldn't remember the last time he felt this frustrated and angry at his supervisor.

"I'm not trying to. Nick, I know you're upset-"

"This isn't about me! I'm not the one keeping those damn bugs on my desk like a paperweight!" Grissom wasn't listening to him, and suddenly all Nick wanted was to make him listen. He wanted to find the most hurtful words and fling them at Grissom until he finally got a reaction. He wanted to break that damn infuriating mask.

"Do you even know why I'm upset? I mean, maybe you don't see anything wrong with keeping creatures that tortured me at our workplace. After all, they're insects; it's not like they meant it, right? And maybe you can empathize better with insects than you can with humans."

Grissom was standing very still at this point. His eyes locked with Nick's, but he didn't say anything. It was obvious he wasn't going to interrupt Nick's rant. Fine. Nick stared back, not at all deterred by his boss's impassiveness. He let his anger fuel another barrage of words.

"Maybe I shouldn't even be mad at you. I could just take a page from Catherine's book and let it slide when you wave off human emotions. I can see you have a hard time feeling them, so it's understandable that you'd discount them as petty!"

He was aware that he was shouting at this point, but he couldn't stop himself. His hands clenched into fists at his side. "You know, Grissom, maybe you never buried me alive, but at least Walter Gordon could feel!"

Grissom's eyes widened. Satisfyingly, Nick saw a flash of pain, but it was gone in a second. The entomologist's expression settled into a mixture of sadness and disappointment. Slowly, he turned again towards the door. "When you're done lashing out, you can find me. We'll talk."

It felt like something rising in Nick's chest finally broke the surface. With an angry sob he swung at the ant farm. His hand connected with the cool glass with bruising force and sent the container flying. It cracked against the wall of the office before bursting open on the floor. The rushing sound in his ears seemed to crescendo with the percussion of glass hitting tile, even as deep red soil and bright shards of glass shot out from the point of impact.

The rushing in his ears stopped. Nick stared at the shattered remains of the ant farm. He was breathing hard as if he'd just run up six flights of stairs, and everything around him seemed muted.

Grissom was yelling. Nick turned and looked at his boss blankly. It took effort to understand the words.

"Get out, Nick!" Grissom sounded very, very angry, but the look in his eyes was fear. Nick frowned, confused as to why Grissom was afraid. When Nick didn't move, he was grabbed by the shoulder and all but yanked towards the door with a final, sharp, "Out, now!"

There were people outside in the hallway, likely drawn from Nick's earlier shouting. Nick saw them gawking at him, but he found he couldn't focus enough to recognize anyone. Grissom's voice, too, was hard to focus on. The supervisor shoved him roughly out of the office. He was still yelling, but Nick only really caught the urgent, angry tone. The words drifted by him without leaving a coherent impression.

"Dammit, what were you thinking? Were you stung? Nick! Look at me. Did you feel any stings?"

Nick flinched as strong hands spun him around. He could no longer see the bystanders; no longer try to pick out his friends from the faceless people. Grissom was in front of him, his hands still clamped painfully on his shoulders. The door to the office was shut behind Grissom. Out of sight, out of mind, Nick thought to himself.

"Nick, are you listening to me? Where's your epi-pen?"

He knew he was being asked a question, but he couldn't concentrate. Grissom's bright blue eyes bore into him, as if searching for the answer he wasn't receiving. This close, Nick could see that Grissom was also breathing hard. "Dammit," The older man swore again. He tore his gaze away from the Texan and looked past him towards the hallway. "Warrick! Where's his epi-pen?"

He recognized Warrick's voice suddenly behind him. Nick watched, dazed, as Grissom spoke to the other CSI. Grissom finally let go of his shoulders, and a gentler grip pulled him away from his supervisor.

He didn't remember walking through the lab, but he must have because he blinked and suddenly the hallway outside of Grissom's office was gone, along with the vague forms of colleagues standing around. Grissom was gone, too. Instead Nick was standing in a restroom, alone except for an agitated Warrick in front of him.

"Come on, man. Let's see some skin."

Nick blinked. It felt like swimming through molasses, but he was finally able to form a coherent reply. "Huh?"

"Shirt off. We gotta make sure you don't have any ants on you, Nicky." Nick nodded, and Warrick took that as a go ahead to help him pull off his black tee. As soon as it was off, Warrick shook it viciously. When no ants fell out, he turned his attention back to Nick. "Wanna roll up your pant legs?"

Again, Nick nodded. He glanced around, looking lost, until Warrick grabbed his wrist and pulled him over to the wall. "Lean on that." Nick raised one foot and then the other as Warrick pulled up his pant legs and checked his shins for any stray fire ants.

The door opened and Sara appeared, not quite stepping into the bathroom. "I got it." She told the men, holding out a small red box. Nick stared at her as Warrick answered, still crouched by Nick's legs.

"It was in his locker?"

"Yeah."

"Good, I thought so. Luckily, I don't think we need it. I'm not finding any on him."

"I'll leave it right here."

"Thanks."

Maybe he should have been annoyed at being talked about like he wasn't there. But he didn't feel quite there, so he watched in silence as Sara left. He let Warrick maneuver his shirt back on without objection.

"You okay, man? You're shaking. Here, let's get you sitting down."

He blinked and suddenly he was in the break room, sitting at the cluttered table. His epi-pen in its bright red case was sitting a few feet away.

"Here you go, freshly brewed."

Warrick was standing with a styrofoam cup in his outstretched hand. When Nick didn't reach for it the other CSI placed it on the table in front of him. Nick watched the steam rise from the coffee as he slowly found the words he wanted to speak. "Where's Grissom?" He asked.

"He's cleaning up, I guess. What did you do, trash his office?"

Nick didn't reply.

"Drink up already, okay? You're shivering. Hey, it's Greg's stuff - none of that instant crap, I promise."

He managed the cup without spilling any. He didn't realize how cold he felt until the steam warmed his face.

"Yeah, I checked him over. He wasn't stung, but he's a bit out of it."

"Thank you, Warrick. I'll take it from here."

By the time Nick looked up from his coffee, Warrick was gone. Grissom was staring at him from across the table. Any fear, any anger was gone - his face was as impassive as ever. For once Nick didn't care. All he could do was stare back and wait for Grissom to make the first move.

Which he did - the older CSI leaned across the table and set a small plastic object on the table between them. He sat down as Nick glanced down at the object. It was a clear film canister. Curled motionless at the bottom was a single red ant.

"Are you ready to talk?"

Grissom's blue eyes were hard, but not unsympathetic. Nick glanced away and heard the unspoken questions. Are you okay? Can you handle this now, or is it too soon?

"Yeah." He was still strangely cold, but at least the time-delay between the world and himself seemed to have stopped.

"Do you want to go first, or should I?"

Nick laughed softly. "I think I said my part."

Grissom didn't smile back. The uneasy silence didn't seem natural in a room where normally banter, wild theories, and complaints about work hours were banded about freely. After the silence stretched several moments, Grissom said, "I'm not sure where to start."

"I... I'm guessing you collected your new... bugs while I was in the hospital?"

"Yes." Grissom said. "The first time they kicked me out of the room actually. I was supposed to go home and sleep. I couldn't... I went back to the nursery."

"Why?"

Grissom heard the bitterness. "I hadn't planned on collecting any ant specimens, if that's what you mean. I needed to go back to the nursery because I needed to see it again. Differently. I wanted to see it as a regular crime scene."

Nick nodded. "A regular crime scene. So you saw the bugs - and what? Collected the evidence?"

Surprise flashed across the older man's face. "No, Nick. I wasn't there to process the scene. Ecklie wouldn't have let me anywhere near the collected evidence. I was just there to try and... see it in a different light. I was just walking around, and I almost stepped on a line of ants moving towards the anthill."

Up until now Grissom had spoken calmly and evenly, maybe to calm Nick or maybe because he was able to detach. Now, however, his voice caught and he looked away from his coworker quickly. He stared at the film canister instead. "Nicky, we were all so scared for you. I was scared for you. Maybe, psychologically speaking, it's not a good idea, but you guys are my family. I care for all of you, and I don't want to think about loosing you.

"It all caught up with me right there, while I was staring at the ants that led us to you."

Nick inhaled sharply, understanding dawning on him.

Grissom said, "It isn't quite normal, I suppose, to want to keep an ant farm like a rabbit's foot or a lucky penny."

Grissom finally met Nick's eyes. Nick bit his lip, silent. As if worried, Grissom added, "It's not an excuse. It's an explanation."

"It's good enough."

Grissom's relief was tangible. Nick sighed and looked at the dead ant on the table. "If it's the same to you, I think I'll just stay out of your office. Too many things in glass boxes, anyway."

"Nick, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay."

It wasn't, not entirely. Nick's eyes burned as he fought off tears. He smiled. "Ironic, isn't it? That your pivotal clue was one that almost killed me. That you're an entomologist. That I didn't die."

"God works in mysterious ways."

Nick was surprised at Grissom's words. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess he does. We all do."

The Texan stood up. "I think Mia might have some results for me." He grabbed his epi-pen from the table and slid it in his pocket, then tossed his empty coffee cup in the trash. He had his hand on the break room doorknob when Grissom called, "Nick?"

Nick turned back. "Yeah?"

"I don't intend to be a mystery. I'll always tell you what you want to know, if you ask."

Nick nodded. He still felt shaky and wrung-out, but lighter too, as if he'd lost a bit more of the tension that had become his constant companion. "Okay," he said. "Good." And he left, eager to get on with his work.

After a minute, Grissom stood. He picked the film canister off the table. It joined the styrofoam cup in the trash.


End file.
